When she was calm enough to keep from putting her fist through a wall, she opened her eyes.
Half a dozen books sat on the table, their spines cracked with age. Chaz had re-created the ghoul’s list in his blocky handwriting, checking off the ones he’d found, question marks next to those he hadn’t. None of them rang bells; but then again, most of what she’d learned out in Sacramento had been via lecture. Sister Delilah had been a walking fount of esoteric knowledge; whatever Val needed to know, the Sister laid it out for her.
Val herself wasn’t an expert on necromancy, and she’d never been all that curious about it. What she did know about it mainly had to do with vampires and Jackals. It could be argued—and was, often, between Delilah and Clara, their team’s other vampire—that vampirism was itself a form of necromancy. The body died, only to rise again if the human heart was given a dose of the vampire’s fresh heartsblood. Add to that a few mouthfuls of the maker’s blood and bam. New bloodsucker reporting for duty.
Necromancy, said Delilah.
Blood magic, said Clara.
It used to be that Jackals could spread their condition with a bite from their filthy, disease-ridden mouths. Venom in the teeth, maybe, or infected saliva. A bite didn’t guarantee transformation; there was another step to it that made it a deliberate choice on the siring Jackal’s part. That method worked fast—whoever got up afterward carried little of the person they’d once been. Even before she fled the West Coast, she’d heard rumors that the technique was failing more often than not.
They had another way, a slower one that seemed to let the victims retain more of their prior selves. It involved eating a piece of the heart. And shoving a piece of raw Jackal flesh into their candidate’s lifeless mouth, making them chew. Hoping they woke up.
Val shuddered at the thought, as though she hadn’t performed her own gruesome surgery on Justin in the back room a month gone.
It’s different. We’re different.
She pulled the stack of books closer to her and picked one at random. Better to read about necromancy on a human scale, and forget about her own bizarre history for a while.
* * *
THE RARE BOOKS room door clicked closed, and Chaz let out the breath he’d been holding. Behind him, Justin let one out, too. “Dude,” said Chaz, “you literally don’t need to do that.”
“I, uh.” He was still squeezed into the corner, no sign of last night’s ass-kicking, name-taking vampire to be found. Instead, he looked nervous, embarrassed. The bookmark in his hand took the brunt of it as he picked at the knot holding the tassels in check.
“‘Mommy, Daddy, please stop fighting’?” Soon as the words were out of his mouth, Chaz winced. Christ, I’m an asshole. He didn’t know a whole lot about Justin’s home life, but he did know one thing: the kid’s parents—his real ones, not his surrogate bookstore ones—fought. All. The. Fucking. Time. When they’d first hired him on at Night Owls, he’d specifically requested the late shift. Not because he particularly dug working until three a.m., but because it reduced the window during which his parents, who were three time zones behind, could call and drag him into the argument du jour. “Ah, fuck, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine.” He put the poor tortured bookmark down. “I’m just not used to seeing you two, y’know, like that. I thought you were going to start hitting each other.”
“Nah. If it came to that, it’d be her getting ready to paste me and me squealing like a toddler and running away. Probably wetting my pants while I was at it. I’m a delicate fucking flower.”
“You’re not. I mean, not that I want to see you and Val get into fisticuffs, but you held your own last night.”
“That thing was trying to kill me. I generally try not to let that happen. Anything that looked smooth was me trying not to die. Oh, and failing at it, when you got there.”
A customer came up to the register, and they broke off their hushed conversation. Wouldn’t do to have everyone know they were spending their free time fighting beasties and baddies, or that hanging out in the back room and right up here at the register were a pair of Edgewood’s beasties. Chaz’ bruised face was getting enough curious looks as it was.
Justin returned a moment later. He helped sort the books in the pile, but it was clear there was something on his mind: his brow furrowed, he kept taking those little breaths that prefaced a statement, but then he’d shake his head and remain silent. Chaz let him chew on whatever it was. He put the books away, brought more up to the front, rinse, repeat. Every time he came back to the register, Justin would be on the verge of speech. But again and again, he stopped himself.
“Here’s the deal,” said Chaz, after what had to be the fifth or sixth time, “you tell me what’s going on, or I’m sending you out back to clean the bathroom. I don’t care if you don’t even use it anymore.”
It wasn’t like the restroom was gross; it was for employees only, and Val shared out cleaning duties on a rotating schedule. Still, who ever actually wanted to scrub a toilet? Justin sighed. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, kiddo, that word pretty much describes your whole life from here on out. You want to narrow that down a bit?”
Instead of answering, Justin slid a book out from beneath the counter. It had been hidden under the plastic bags with the bookstore’s owl logo on them; the kid must’ve been sneaking peeks at it while Chaz was off shelving. Usually, its home was in their occult section, nestled between the Necronomicon and a bunch of bullshit titles about healing with crystals. Val kept it in the inventory for sheer hilarity value, but they hadn’t sold a copy in years. In fact, with Chaz’ habit of talking Edgewood’s young and impressionable out of buying it, this was the same copy they’d originally brought in.
“Dating the Paranormal? You’ve gotta be shitting me. Is there some demon hottie in your poetry class?”
“No.” He’d gone six shades of crimson. “I’m the paranormal. I just figured . . . maybe it’d have some advice for me in here.”
“You want my advice?” Chaz didn’t give Justin the time to yay or nay. “You do what you would’ve done before Val turned you. Don’t plan any midday picnics or anything, but ask her out, take her to dinner and a movie, and if she lets you kiss her good night, don’t bite her. What you are, that’s not first-date-confession fodder. Assuming she believes you at all, that’s the sort of thing that could get you, or Val, or Sunny and Lia, or whoever killed if it gets out. Not a fucking word until you know beyond a doubt you can trust her.”
“I already know that.”
“The fuck you do. Why haven’t we heard word one about her, then?” Great, all the blood he’s drinking is going straight down to his dick so he can think with it. He was working himself up for such a brilliant rant, he almost missed the two words Justin breathed:
“It’s Elly.”
Wind. Sails. Out of. “Elly. Huh.” He pondered that a moment. “You mean Elly, the girl who’s always half-ready to stake you? Could kick the shit out of both of us without batting an eye? That Elly?”
Justin pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to make fun—”
“No! I’m not, I swear. I’m . . . surprised is all. Didn’t see that one coming.” Not that it was any of Chaz’ business, but Justin’s odds of getting into or out of that relationship without permanent scars were pretty much nil. And that meant both scars on his body and on his psyche. Elly was trying, but she wasn’t used to being around people. Not yet. Or at least, not around people who weren’t trying to kill her.
A glance around the store told Chaz they were in the middle of the evening lull. Edgewood’s older population was at home, settled down in front of the TV or nestled in their beds. The students were still mostly on campus, finishing up their classes, their club meetings, their last bites at the dining hall. When the library and the campus center c
losed for the night around eleven, business would pick up. For now, though . . . “Come on,” he said, abandoning his work and heading for the cluster of couches toward the front. “The doctor is in. Let’s chat.”
“Val doesn’t want the register person stepping away,” Justin said. He eyed the rare books room’s door warily.
“You saved my bacon last night. She’ll give you a pass if she catches us. Come and sit.” He settled himself creakily into one of the overstuffed chairs. It was probably shit for his injuries, but with how every-damn-thing ached after the morning’s training session with Lia, he didn’t care. He was comfortable, damn it, and if he was going to act all Dr. Ruth for the kid, he was going to do it with his ass cushioned and his feet up.
Justin eased himself down from the register area’s raised platform as though if he stepped too heavily, Val would hear and come flying out from the back. He took a look around Night Owls and apparently came to the same conclusion Chaz had: the store had cleared out. Still, when he finally sat down, he kept himself perched on the edge of the couch, ready to fly up if the phone rang or a customer cleared their throat for assistance.
“So, okay, you’ve got it bad for Elly. What answers do you think you’re going to find in any of those ridiculous relationship books?”
“You know, for a guy who works in a bookstore, you’ve got a pretty low opinion on the product you sell.”
“For dating advice? Of course I do. Have you read those things? They’re mired in the nineteen fifties. ‘Open the door for her. Buy her flowers.’ And the advice for women? Fuck, dude, it’s all crap: ‘Look your prettiest. Laugh at his jokes even if they’re fucking stupid. Don’t act too into him or he’ll think you’re a slut. But be a little slutty because guys like that.’” He shook his head. “God forbid they suggest you treat each other like people, right?”
“Uh. Right. So treat Elly like people, is what you’re saying?”
“Nah. I’ve seen you two together. You’ve got that one down already.” Probably better than any of us, really. Maybe even better than Cavale. “Have you tried asking her out?”
“No. I don’t . . . I don’t think she thinks of me that way.”
“Why not?”
Justin’s mumbled reply was lost when he buried his face in his hands.
“Wanna try that again? Your mortification kind of drowned it out.”
He picked his head up enough so that this time, Chaz caught it: “Her scent never changes when we’re together.”
Chaz blinked. “Dude, that’s . . . that’s kind of creepy.” It wasn’t until Justin slumped down even farther that Chaz realized the statement worked both ways: creepy and Creepy.
“I knooooow,” he moaned. “I’ve tried shutting it off and I can’t. Every human I talk to, I know what they’re feeling. It’s pheromones. It has to be, and I can’t make it stop.” He looked at Chaz with those tawny eyes. The ones that had come with the Jackals’ spell. “Val says she has to be right up close to someone to be able to read them like that. This isn’t the vampire part of me, Chaz, it’s the Creep, and I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“Whoa, buddy. Hey.” Chaz shifted closer so he could put an arm around Justin’s shoulders. The kid was shaking like a leaf. “Let’s roll that back a bit, okay? It’s not your fault. You’re gonna have to learn to adapt to it, but you’ve only been at this a month. No one expects you to know how to do everything that fast. I don’t give a shit what kind of genius you are at school. This is different. You’re different.” He said that last as gently as he could. “So we’re going to have to adapt right along with you. We’ll figure it out. Okay?”
He nodded miserably. “Okay.”
“And as for Elly . . . Maybe you just don’t know how to interpret it all yet?”
“I know what attraction smells like,” he said. “I go to college, remember?”
“Fair point. But Elly doesn’t. Maybe she’s just good at masking her emotions.”
Justin nodded, looking encouraged for the first time since the conversation started. “Maybe. I mean, you do it all the time.”
Chaz froze. “I . . . do?”
“Yeah, um.” Justin looked at him, then away. “You probably don’t know you’re doing it, but with Val, you . . . you hide it. Or you try to. Not enough, though. I’m pretty sure if I know, she has to have figured it out by now.” He moved away an inch or two, slipping out from beneath Chaz’ arm and looking like he wanted to disappear in the couch cushions. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s . . .” Chaz sighed. Of course Justin had put it together. Pheromones aside, he’d probably figured it out the day of the Clearwaters’ funeral, when Lia had walked in wearing Val’s face. The succubi responded to strong emotions, and she’d been hit with a wall of it from Chaz. He’d passed it off as worry, but . . . No point in lying to him now. He’d probably smell that, too. “I love her. And she knows. We don’t talk about it, but she knows.”
“How did she react? When you told her?”
Chaz shrugged. “I was already her Renfield. I asked her on a date and she shot me down nicely.” The ghost of old embarrassment brushed against him. He’d never forget the way she’d tilted her head and said, I’m sorry, Chaz. I don’t think of you that way. “It was weird for a bit, but she’s my best friend. She was then, too. We got past it. I’d be kind of an asshole if I was only sticking around hoping she’d change her mind and fuck me, you know? We moved on.”
You could make a whole line of paint colors from the shades of red Justin turned at that. “Have you?” he asked. “Moved on?” He didn’t need to point out that, in the three years he’d been working here, Chaz hadn’t dated anyone.
“I haven’t met anyone else I like well enough. That’s not Val’s problem. Or anyone else’s but mine.” He forced a smile; this was supposed to be Justin’s heart-wrenching session on the relationship drama couch, not Chaz’. “Let’s get back to your schoolgirl crush, yeah?”
Mercifully, Justin nodded. “I just don’t know what I should do.”
“Ask her out,” said Chaz. He ignored Justin’s Thanks, Captain Obvious glance. “Worst case, she says no. If she does, you be fucking cool with it and move on. If she says yes, you figure out someplace to go that won’t freak her out. And don’t mention the scent thing. If you do and she smacks you for it, you have it coming.”
“Okay.” The bell over the door rang, the first students of the late rush stamping their feet and blowing on cold fingers as they came in from the cold. “I should, uh, get back to work. But thank you. And I’m sorry if I said things I shouldn’t have.”
Chaz waved it off. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, kiddo, it’s that honesty and communication are fucking important.” His tired muscles protested as he levered himself up out of the chair. Val still hadn’t emerged from the rare books room, which was good. He was still pissed but after the talk with Justin, guilt had slipped itself into his feelings cocktail. A lot of his anger bordered on irrational: he wasn’t a fighter. Cavale was. But that didn’t mean Chaz liked being made to feel protected. Coddled. Fragile. I should tell her about the training.
Then another group of students came in, and one of them made a beeline for him. “Can you help me find a book?” she asked. “I saw it here last week but I forget the title. It had a blue cover?”
He’d catch Val later.
Maybe.
12
CAVALE NEVER DID well with suspense. He didn’t like mystery novels, bounced right off movies that kept you guessing, and if he knew a surprise was headed his way, he’d dig and dig and dig until he had an idea what it was. It probably had something to do with long nights when he and Elly were little, waiting for Father Value to come home from vanquishing Creeps. No one who went into a nest was ever guaranteed to come out, not even the man they saw as their father, and thus imag
ined invincible, or immortal, or both.
Turned out he wasn’t either in the end, a fact that Cavale had long since come to terms with. Elly, though? Father Value had been in the ground five weeks or more, and she still wasn’t quite there. She didn’t doubt that he was gone—Elly wasn’t one to surrender to fantasy—but he knew she pored over those last few days with him, looking for something she’d done that had broken his mojo. Point was, he’d never had any. He was a member of the Brotherhood, trained to be good at what he did. That didn’t make you unkillable; it just made it harder on whoever was trying.
Elly knew that, too, but she didn’t always act like it.
Like tonight.
She’d be on high alert—she always was. But her texts had set Cavale’s own alarm bells ringing, enough that he wanted to jump in the car and race up to Southie himself to help. Nothing good came from vampire turf wars. He’d tried telling her that when she took the job for Ivanov, but she’d taken it anyway.
Because if there was one other thing Father Value had passed down to them both, in spades, it was pride.
His internal scales teetered between don’t smother her and fuck her pride. The more he checked his phone, where that last text (Fine. With Katya.) waited for its follow-up, the harder it was to sit tight. He busied himself with projects that were absolutely not related to her situation. The holy water supply needed replenishing—if he filled a few extra bottles, so what? The duffel bag of monster-hunting equipment he kept by the front door needed reorganizing; so what if the cedar stakes ended up at the top?
She’s fine. She said so. Katya’s a pain in the ass, but she’s on Elly’s side. They’re all right, they’re all right, they’re all right.
His phone buzzed at last. New text: We’re all right.
He was in the kitchen when it came through, wearing a track between there and the front door with his pacing. Relief coursed through him as he read it; he clung to the counter to keep his knees from giving out. The phone buzzed again: Saw sigil on a vamp. Necromancer sent him after the Oisín. Too far gone before I realized.
Grave Matters: A Night Owls Novel Page 15
